


Sacrificial

by corrupted76



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Abuse, Regret, The implied warning tags are not Walt/Jesse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted76/pseuds/corrupted76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first Breaking Bad Fic. Set during the Felina timeline, this story reflects on the past while moving at a slow burn pace towards the inevitable end - with a single burning question that needs to be answered. Should Walt have sacrificed himself instead of Jesse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burning Rubber

**Author's Note:**

> Walt contemplates the past as he sets out to complete his final mission.
> 
> (Chapter 1 has been rewritten and heavily edited to keep the style consistent with the format that fell into place during Chapter 2.)

Walt popped open the trunk of his recently acquired, dingy white Volvo. He moved with a purpose, deliberately ignoring a glaringly obvious fortune in the form of bundled cash; instead unzipping a large canvas bag that had been placed beside the hastily tossed stacks, seeking a specific prescription. He rummaged for a moment, found the correct bottle, shut the trunk in haste and quickly downed a couple of pills as he waited for the gas tank to fill. Tucking the bottle safely into his jacket pocket, he glanced around nervously though he knew his worry was needless. He would have seemed about as inconspicuous as possible to any passers by in this slow-as-molasses town. His enfeebled body, haggard bearded face, shaggy head of hair and casual clothing made him seem like your average Joe, just living out his mundane life in Anytown, USA.

While this facade was comically far from the truth, he certainly didn't resemble the nightmarish fantasy most people would have conjured of the dangerous, legendary and inhuman Heisenberg. He didn't even resemble the honest truth anymore, his current visage barely a shadow of the photos of himself circulating feverishly in every newspaper across the country. Most of those images portrayed a mean son of a bitch, a limitless desperado with scalp shaved clean and the experience of a dark, dangerous life plainly etched into his rugged features. No, that was not the emaciated man that currently stood here at the filling station; ravaged by cancer, weary, lonely and resigned to his impending end. Even the soulless green eyes that once burned hot with ambition and rage had been all but snuffed out. Hell, he didn't even resemble the “other” pictures that had made it into print, the so called “before” pictures – the images of a happy, vibrant and unknowingly dissatisfied family man, the pushover, the easy going laughing stock. And despite the fact that he was quite obviously dying, the grizzled and wiry Walt was content in no longer being the emasculated sap he once was, at the very least.

Shaking his head and a myriad of complicated thoughts away, he reached for the water hose that was coiled around a standing rack near the gas pump. As he took a drink, a violent coughing fit caused him to bend double. The cold and aching fire that burned through his lungs made him feel as though his chest was being ripped apart. 

_Not much time left, and time is ticking... always ticking._

He had to make his move, and now. He already knew all too well that there was no going back, but his illness still found a way to show up at just the right time these days, to drive the fact home.

A minute later, two quarters fell in rapid succession into the slot at the payphone just a few feet away as he put his final plans into motion. Plans that would have never fulminated, had a TV program in a shabby bar not ignited that trademark Heisenberg flame one final time. Right as he had decided to end it all, that spark had returned fortuitously, and Walt had realized right then and there, that giving himself up to the authorities would have been a dire mistake. No, he couldn't let it end. Not yet. Oh, how beautiful it was, to make them pay, figuratively and literally. This Matter, in Walt's mind, was anything but Grey. It would come full circle and in the end, the hell that had been unleashed in Heisenberg's wake would not be futile after all. Vindication would be neatly delivered through the interlocked hands of wealthy wedded bliss, the very hands that had caused everything to spiral into madness in the first place. It was perfect. 

“Yes, hello. This is David Linn from the New York Times.” He lied into the receiver. He spun deception with such natural ease these days, that it was a wonder Walt hadn't forgotten his own name. “May I speak with Susan, please? Thank you.”

After a few more smooth, well placed lies Walt had all the information he needed. Now he knew exactly when Gretchen and Elliott would be returning home and had even confirmed their new address in Tesuque, which was good. Last Walt had heard, the Schwartz family still lived on Upper Canyon Road. He was all for saving as much time as possible at this point.

_Time._

A regretful expression threatened to take hold, but Walt forced it away, swallowing a would-be flurry of tears as soon as they had threatened to appear. Heh, he was almost as good at suppressing his emotions as he was at lying. Useful skills, really. Lowering his head, Walt began to unbuckle the strap encircling his thin wrist and without any hesitation, he unceremoniously placed the watch he'd treasured for so long atop the phone booth and turned to walk away, not looking back.

_Don't look back._

That watch, perhaps someone else would find it. Find it and put it to good use. Someone with more time than he had left. He pretended that taking that damned watch off was simple, easy and clean. That it didn't hurt or rip his chest open with the same aching fire that his regular coughing fits produced. He didn't have a heart left to break, he reminded himself. He was nothing but an empty shell running on nothing but borrowed time. 

_Jesse, why did you betray me?_

A moment later Walt was speeding down the highway, teeth scraping, jaw clenched as he held the steering wheel white-knuckle tight, leadfooting it down the interstate just like Walt Jr. had that day he'd taken him down to the parking lot to practice driving.

He was many things, and he had been even more things to various people over the course of his life but stupid had never been one of them. He knew goddamned well why Jesse had betrayed him but he'd never been able to completely admit it, not even to himself. When Skyler had turned her back on him for the last time, Jesse had stood by him. When Walt Jr. had replaced him, Jesse had stood by him. When Hank had turned on him like a bloodhound hot on the trail, Jesse had stood by him. Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. 

Walt growled lowly under his breath as he sped up, zooming down the dusty highway like a bat out of hell, rubber peeling along the road in his wake. A moment later, he forced himself to slow down despite having no real desire to do so. The last thing he needed right now was to let his emotions overcome him, to grow impatient and botch the entire plan over something as preventable as being pulled over for speeding. As he slowed down, his thoughts seemed to speed up, even more tense and aching. 

_Jesse._

It wasn't like Pinkman's loyalty had been one sided, either. Through it all, he had stood by Jesse no matter what. No matter how many times the stupid kid had fucked up. Walt chuckled despite his misery. Perhaps he'd become too arrogant in the end and a fool, to think that Jesse was fully without limits. Jesse had absolutely no tolerance for the harming of children and because of the way things had turned out, Jesse had played the part of accessory to the harming of a child twice over, one of those times to a child that could have very likely become his stepson. That boy, poisoned by Walt's own hands, the act neatly covered up by well concocted, but eventually deconstructed lies. And for what? To manipulate Jesse into doing things he never would have done on his own, for what he could only deduce to be Walt's personal gain.

It was no wonder the kid had turned on him in the end. It hadn't helped that Jesse, for some reason, had also developed a strong fondness for Mike Ehrmentraut. Hell, the boy really hadn't been the same since the Gale incident. Gus' death soon after hadn't help matters any either but at least, deep down, Walt suspected Jesse understood how needed those last two murders had truly been. Why couldn't Jesse understand that Walt had done every last goddamned bit of it for Jesse's sake as well? Actions were supposed to speak louder than words and Jesse still had no clue how much Walt had loved him? Did that idiot kid really believe Walt had done all of those terrible things for fun, or profit? Fuck.

_If only you'd met me that day, I could have explained it all to you! About Brock and how that was absolutely vital! Jesse, why didn't you show up? Jesse, why Hank of all people? WHY HANK?!_

Walt sped up again, though he knew better. He wasn't careless by nature, ever. But he did have one hell of a temper and he had already lost it. Caution be damned, he thought as he careened down the highway, emotions shifting from regretful to downright furious as if a switch had been casually flipped.

_You never believed me about Mike. After Brock, you never believed a goddamned thing I said. That's why you didn't believe me about Mike. That's why you didn't show up. You were tired of the lies._

_And you betrayed me because you full well thought I'd betrayed you first._

A few minutes later found Walter a great deal more collected than he had been, his weary face a mask of restraint and control as he drove a modest five miles under the speed limit. Luckily he'd rarely seen another motorist on the road during his rage filled stint and luckier still, none of the few he had seen, had been cops. His blood still felt like it was only a scant few degrees below the boiling point but at least he was keeping his exterior and his actions much cooler now. Suddenly he remembered something that had happened so long ago, during perhaps what could be called, simpler days. How out of control and utterly fucked had his life been, to consider his first dangerously close brush with death the “simpler days” ? Walt didn't know, but the scene played out, over and over again in his mind with blue crystal clarity, trapped with Jesse in a dusty old house in the New Mexico desert, courtesy of the Salamanca family. 

***

“Hey, you got the C-bomb, man. All right? You're as good as checked out already. Okay? You should be, like, all sacrificial, jumping on a grenade, yo.” Jesse had whispered quietly, his thin voice quivering with fear. “Just...” he trailed before stopping short, wringing his hands repeatedly as he shifted anxiously.

“Oh, so my life is not the priority here because I'm gonna be dead soon anyway,” Walt interjected without allowing Jesse to finish whatever moronic comment he was about to tack on to such an already well-placed jab. Walt remembered responding hotly, the flare of his (at the time), newly found temper adding an unusually sharp edge to his typically mild manner of speaking. The quality of the words sliding past his lips had shocked him at the time. The confidence, the virility of Walt's own voice, he didn't recognize it. The sound seemed like it was from some sort of surreal alternate reality, a voice that truly belonged to another man altogether. Though the situation they were in was truly dire, that newly found authority was liberating and addictive to Walt. He felt more alive than he ever had, when he was with Jesse. When they were in danger. It was deliciously thrilling. “That's your point?” He'd barked angrily at Jesse, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Back then, he'd been utterly incredulous at such a childish suggestion, truly irritated that his own life wasn't important in his partner's eyes. But it made so much more sense to Walter now, in hindsight.

Jesse kept wringing his hands together over and over again anxiously, uselessly. He was already soaked from the heat and the stress as a new layer of beads of sweat trailed along his brow, just below his disheveled blond mane. Walt distinctly remembered the desperation and worry evident in the boy's pleading blue eyes on that terrible day. His boyish air of fake confidence and bravado had always been very transparent to Walt but it was different to see Jesse without it entirely. What was exposed beneath it, was absolutely beautiful. The shakiness of his voice, the totality of Jesse's dependence and desperation in that tense moment, it had stirred something protective, something decent and yet beyond description inside of Walt. Even beyond the anger he felt over the kid's stupid mouth, a weak, vulnerable and needy Jesse evoked something that had moved Walt to his very core, something he should have nurtured and held onto for far longer.

“Uh, yeah.” Jesse scoffed, hands still pressed together as he turned away from Walt's incredulous glare, to stare once again at Tuco as he cooked, the brute completely unaware of the plotting going on quite literally behind his back.

Walt pressed his hands to his temple, mouth open in dismay at what Jesse was implying but the events of the near future had already been laid in motion by that harrowing exchange. It was why he pleaded, argued and chased after Tuco in a flurry of panic when the lunatic was dragging Jesse outside to execute him. Not that he would have just let Jesse die, not that the truth was not always true. It had been so from the start, but Walt understood himself now. He had faced off against the monster for Jesse's sake before and that time, he'd had no concern for his own well being. He wouldn't have cared a bit if he'd blown the whole goddamned place to dust, himself along with it. All that mattered was Tuco put Jesse in the hospital and Walt couldn't stand to see Jesse hurt. How was this situation any different? It wasn't. At all. Jesse's comment had not been out of line. It was the goddamned truth. And with that, Walt realized this day was simply a defining moment of not change - but clarity; a moment that solidified everything in his heart, even if his mind was too dull and selfish to process that truth. He'd fallen in love with Jesse Pinkman. Hard and fast, like he had been the stupid kid in the relationship, the one who didn't know any damned better.

***

_But, you expected me to sacrifice myself for you? Just like that? I don't remember letting on that I even cared about you period, by that time. That. Well that, happened much later._

It didn't make any sense to Walt then and it sure as shit didn't make any sense now, that Jesse thought being a kamikaze pilot versus Tuco Salamanca was a good idea and a fitting fate for the newly created Heisenberg. But maybe that was exactly what Walt should have done. Sacrificed himself on Jesse's behalf. If not at that point in their lives, then maybe later on. The point still held true. Maybe he should have done it at that **exact time**. The perfect time he'd deduced in hindsight. That night with Jane. No. No. Far beyond then, since Walt himself hadn't realized that truth until after the moment had passed. Besides, Jane had to go, as much as it had razed him inside to watch her die, to have behaved so callously. Not to mention the chain of events that it had caused. The ruination of a good man and the deaths of so many innocent people, all because he let Jane die. Maybe he should have saved her and prevented all the tragedy that had followed, because of that poor decision. There was no denying that it had tortured Walt endlessly since then. No. Never mind. He wouldn't have changed a thing, now that he thought about it a little more. It had been Jane or Jesse, plain and simple. Walt would pick Jesse over Jane every time. No matter the carnage and misery that ensued in the aftermath of her demise. There was no point arguing that. If he'd saved Jane, Jesse wouldn't have lasted another week. He let Jane die for one reason and one reason only. To save Jesse's life.

It suddenly dawned on Walt, out of the blue. He knew exactly what he should have done and when he should have done it, to sacrifice himself for Jesse's sake. Of course the realization didn't do a him a fucking bit of good now. But, if he had just turned himself in after Jesse had become an informant for Hank - Walter could have admitted to his crimes, confessed to being responsible for the whole operation and Jesse could have been let off the hook entirely. The DEA would have cut him a deal. He and Jesse could have plotted out the whole thing very carefully ahead of time, both of them avoiding guilt in all the murders while hiding most of the money in such a way that it would never be found. In the end they had made such a huge fortune, obscenely so, in the tens of millions at least. Handing over a mere fraction of it to the DEA, well it would have reasonably seemed like enough to account for their meth business.

That plan would have completely covered their asses and they'd still have more wealth waiting for them, than they could have spent in ten lifetimes. And with that being the case, suddenly going all good Samaritan, maybe even Walt himself could have gotten off rather easily, between Saul's suave handing of unsavory underworld dealings and Hank helping out with the authorities. Sure, his brother-in-law had become like a feral animal poised for the kill once he'd learned that Walt was Heisenberg, but they were family. Family. Hank would have come around eventually and at least lessened the blow for Skyler and Walt Jr.'s sake. At the very least. He would have at least done that much. Yes, and...

_Hank would still be alive._

_Jesse would still be alive._

_Jesse..._

_Family._

_Never give up on family._

It was a painful twist of fate that the one thing responsible for the final breech between himself and his family had been the murder of Hank. The one unforgivable atrocity was the one he hadn't actually committed. But just as Jesse had been immovable in accepting Walt's account to absolve himself of guilt in Mike's death, both Skyler and Walter Jr., by that point in time had grown tired of all the secrets and the lies. They had no faith left in him, especially Skyler. And Marie, her forgiveness wasn't even worth thinking about. Impossible. Walt's sins had been exposed with all their depravity, laid bare for all to see. Too many lies had been told, too many mistakes had been made, too many bridges had been burned by then. He'd never be believed or redeemed in their eyes. He'd systematically alienated and lost everyone he'd ever held any affection for.

Walt wasn't even sure he gave a good goddamn about estranging himself from his family anymore. His time was almost up, anyway. Hank's death of course, was something he would never recover from. That memory would haunt him until the end of his days, even if he wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. Even if he wasn't dying and had all the time in the world to recover, it wouldn't have mattered at all. Recovery was not possible, responsibility in it all, aside. 

_But Jesse's death, you are responsible for that..._

Walt screamed, roaring in an anguished mix of rage and agony, the same way he'd screamed while sitting behind the wheel of his car after blowing up Tuco's place. He'd originally meant it with all his heart, "No more violence." The psycho had the nerve to try to rip him off but so what? That could have been handled civilly, intelligently. But Tuco had the stupidity to try to get away with the unthinkable. Tried to hurt his Jesse. 

_My Jesse? What a fucking joke._

Walt cursed himself as he closed in on his destination, many miles under his wheels. If Jesse truly had been his as Walt had always thought, he wouldn't be dead right now. He'd be at Walt's side, through it all like he should have been. The one person that Walt had loved more than anything and simultaneously taken completely for granted.

_I should have taken better care of Jesse._

How had Walt loved Jesse so goddamned much without realizing it? Time after time he risked everything for the kid, even to greater lengths than he had gone for his family. In hindsight he realized, far too late, that the only reason he pushed the limits too far in the end and decided to have Jesse... murdered, was Skyler's provocation. Take care of it. Get rid of him. For the family. Walt shook his head as the mounting tears he'd been holding back all day, finally spilled over and rolled down his cheeks.

_Skyler manipulated you one last time, Walter._

He'd killed Jesse as sure as if it had been with his own two hands, simply because Skyler had wanted him to. Thinking back, he remembered that awkward as hell night he'd had the kid stay for dinner. It worked out exactly as Walter had planned. Show the kid how literally nothing romantic remained between he and his estranged shrew of a wife, prove to the kid that he was the only thing left in Walt's guilty heart. But what he hadn't factored into the equation was the intuition, jealousy, and vengeance of a wronged woman left to linger in pain for far too long. Had it all backfired in the end, over something so simple? Another stupid, stupid avoidable mistake, like hanging on to that goddamned book Gale gave him? Was he just now realizing it? 

_That night, Skyler figured it out. Because of that night, she figured out you were fucking Jesse. She always suspected you of having an affair. You provided her with all the proof she needed, right there at the kitchen table. And she also thought you'd had the nerve to do it deliberately to rub it in her face. That's why Skyler wanted him out of the picture. Not because he was a danger or a threat, not even because she still loved you and wanted to eliminate the competition. She just wanted him dead out of spite. To hurt you. To get you back. And you, you stupid son of a bitch, you led Jesse to his death because you were too goddamned arrogant to see the obvious!_

Walt slammed his hands against the steering wheel repeatedly in frustration. It all made so much sense now. It was revenge, plain and simple. Skyler had grown so very cold. Not in a million years would she have ever allowed them to return to what they had once been. A real family. Honestly, Walt wouldn't have wanted that anyway. He hadn't felt that kind of deep, connected love for Skyler in what felt to be a dozen lifetimes. He simply held on to be a man. To provide for his family, just like Gus had said. He had originally traveled down that road to ruin with nothing but good intentions and love in his heart. But the longer he followed the path, the more that love had faded. By the time he'd reached the end, his sole motivator had been obligation. And as his empire crumbled at his feet, the only reason to keep holding on was to assure that it hadn't all been in vain. That would have been more than he could take. All of this hell, for nothing? No, that could not be allowed to happen. Obligation, justification. Yes. And it was enough. He wouldn't let them go without, he would be the provider.

But...love? Did he still love Skyler? Was it true, honest love? Not at all. For ages, he'd only felt that for Jesse. But even that... love, was tainted. Every night that kid stared at him longingly through baby blue eyes, clinging to every word Walt said, holding on desperately to every touch – Walt had convinced himself that he was just playing a part. Doing nothing more than playing it safe, keeping Jesse wrapped around his little finger. That he was only using Jesse's affection and emotions against him to make sure he'd remain loyal. It was only after what felt to be a million tears and a thousand sleepless nights holed up in that tiny cabin in New Hampshire that he'd realized the truth. Jesse Pinkman, that pathetic junkie drop out, had transformed into his right hand, his sole equal, his only friend. His partner. His soulmate. 

The only thing he would have asked for right now - Walt's final wish, would be to see Jesse again, to be the recipient of that quixotic, starry-eyed gaze one last time. And it was his own damned fault that it would never happen. 

Goddamn it all. He was the danger, all right. The toxic danger that systematically destroyed everything that had made his life worth living. But it didn't fucking matter any more. Jesse was dead. And before his tears had fully dried, Walt would be, too.


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse reflects on the dire events that led up to this point while secretly being held in captivity by the neo-Nazis.

He'd always been a kindhearted soul, slight of frame, overly emotional and breathtakingly beautiful. Perhaps this combination would not have been so terrible in a girl. Especially in a girl who'd made the right choices in her youth and had grown into a fine, productive young woman on the right side of the law.

But it was a disastrous combination when wrapped up in the mismatched package of a troublesome boy who always stood out for the wrong reasons; who in turn became a young man who never failed to make the wrong decisions and who had ultimately become a man embroiled in a life of crime. Soft and small, vulnerable and needy, his fatal flaws had shaped most of his life. Not to say that his qualities didn't grant him some benefits. Most girls had found him irresistible as did far more boys than one would casually think. Even some teachers, coaches and other adults in his adolescent years had shown an extreme interest in him. What was simply well meaning concern for a young boy needing guidance and what wasn't totally on the innocent level, well, that was anyone's guess. His innate charm had come in quite handy many times when he needed to use it to squirm his way out of trouble. That same charisma had also been useful in his drug dealing activities too. A grin here, a wink there, a casual flirt to make a sale. Hell, Jesse Pinkman was a born salesman.

But for all their benefits, the very qualities that made Jesse, well, Jesse... often did him more harm than good. He was the faggot, the little bitch, the whipping boy. It was like he'd been wearing a neon sign advertising himself to potential bullies and abusers his whole life. From the kids on the playground to the high school quarterback to Emilio and Crazy-8, to Tuco, Hank Schrader and even Mr. White himself, the cycle never ended. That scared boy, the little bitch had finally grown up; but had little to show for in the way of true change or betterment. He was still the underdog, the scapegoat, the punching bag. By now he could be a full time mascot - the lifelong poster child of abuse. The ways and means always changed but the outcome never did. 

He'd never been able to surmount his over emotional nature, either. No matter how grim and desperate things became, his kind and pure heart would always be exposed to be toyed with and broken, just as his small and supple body was always available to take relentless beatings from any bully who chose to target him.

In many ways it would seem his entire life had lead up to this point. All the torment, insults, humiliation, brushes with death and pain. The **pain**. It seemed to be the grand finale, this fate. One his life of hard knocks had trained him well for. Except it hadn't, at all. Despite all the suffering, the so-called hard lessons learned, Jesse hadn't learned at all. For better or worse, Jesse had always remained in a strange stasis of contradictory innocence. His guilt ceaselessly weighed upon him like a heavy burden, too cumbersome to carry at times and with no absolution in sight. But his heart never hardened like it should have; the natural instinct to survive never kicked in quite right. Anxieties and depressions mounted, PTSD and paranoia set in, and hope eventually slipped from his grasp. Yet through it all he still remained tender and fragile at his core.

Jesse laid upon the frigid concrete floor, aching and broken. Since he'd partnered up with Mr. White – no, even before that, regular beatings were a common event. It came with the hand he'd been dealt in life. As did the heartache. And somehow no matter how bad things got, Jesse just kept on living without ever changing; despite wanting nothing more than this change, deep down, to occur. Like a chemical reaction that would be the catalyst to create a better, stronger, more powerful Jesse. A Jesse that wasn't so clingy, so codependent, so desperate for an idol and in perpetual need for a hero to come and rescue him, time after time.

And Jesse, in his naive stupidity, had long ago placed all that he ever desired and needed in Mr. White. Mr. White had failed him. No hero was coming to save him and he knew now, that he would languish and eventually die in this cage, bloodied and battered night after night until his fragile body gave out on him for the last time.

_Mr. White... how could you do this to me? How could you not have known what these Nazi fucks would DO to me!?_

He choked back a ragged, throaty whimper, clenching his fists in frustration, his piercing blue eyes becoming moist as the memories careened through his frantic mind. And as the tears formed, the pain was enhanced. Christ, he wasn't even sure his right eye still worked like it should and the gashes on the right side of his nose felt as though they had torn right through the cartilage. Fuck it, it didn't matter anyway. Nothing fucking mattered anymore. Nothing at all. It didn't even hurt that bad, he was just being a bitch about it. 

_FUCK!_

He hated himself for crying in this situation. Dehydrated, hungry, used up, beaten like a rag doll on a daily basis before and after being used as a cook slave, brutally raped night after night, tormented and teased, humiliated day in and day out and yet he still had it in him to cry like a scared child instead of being a man about it.

_GOD, you are such a pussy!_

Jesse wailed, straining against the shackles and chains that bound him as he writhed on the unforgiving, hard stone floor. He fantasized briefly about plotting another daring escape, exacting revenge on all those neo-Nazi fucks, especially that Opie dead-eyed piece of shit who never seemed to grow tired of forcing himself on Jesse. The others... well, they'd all taken a turn with their pretty little gimp at least once, but Todd was different. Oh, Todd **fed** off Jesse's indignant, seething hatred. The more Jesse resisted, the angrier he became, the more Todd got off on it. It was to the point now that Jesse knew to just swallow his tears and his pride and wait for it to end no matter how incensed or wrathful he felt inside. 

He wouldn't give Todd the satisfaction of seeing his humiliation. Fuck that. He would rather rot in this tomb, forgotten forever, before begging that nasty bastard for mercy. And his violence, his sadistic penchant for torture? Well it must have been compensation for that tiny shriveled little prick he had in his pants. A wry smirk crossed Jesse's features for a moment at that last thought before the glassy, empty stare than had become his default expression, had returned. He discarded the foolish notions of a futile second escape attempt, the constant sound of the tarp above his head rattling in the wind as if it were taunting him. Getting out, it was a nice fantasy, something to focus on to keep from going insane inside this box but it would never be possible. He was resourceful but the confines of this prison were just too strong. He'd be able to make it a respectable distance but would be caught in the end. He wouldn't even get the merciful gift of death in that event, either. All he would be doing, would be causing the death of someone other than himself. Brock, that innocent young boy he'd once cared about so much, now without a mother. Because of Jesse. No, he'd do his part in this degrading, disgusting game to keep Brock as safe as possible, for as long as he was forced to do so, until he was finally granted rest. It was the only way he could atone. Endure and wait for the end to come.

Jesse had no one left to love and nothing left to live for, not anymore. He was just biding his time and waiting to die. But he'd made a promise to himself long ago. He would kill Todd one day if it was the last thing he ever did and the only thing in his pathetic life that he ever did right. And that was before Andrea.

_Andrea... oh, Christ. No... not again. Not again._

The tears rolled down his bruised cheeks as he saw her face in his mind's eye, from an older time long since passed. Her kind, warm smile. He'd left her, against his true will, and for what? For her own safety, and Brock's. Mr. White hadn't cared about that arrangement at all. Hell, he'd even encouraged it, understanding that Jesse deserved a family to spend time with when the two of them weren't together, just like Mr. White himself had. A wife. Children. They filled a special place in a man's heart. A place for family, with security, a source of masculine pride. A badge of adulthood, of being a real man. And as possessive as Mr. White was, he knew Jesse's warm affection for Andrea would never be a threat to the all consuming need his boy had for him and him alone. Jesse remembered seething about it at the time Mr. White had all but said so, teasing him about the whole situation.

_Mr. White..._

Jesse's subdued sobbing had grown into loud, full-on wailing as he contemplated Walter Hartwell White, his chemistry teacher, his surrogate father figure, his 50/50 partner, his hero, the love of his life. When and where and how... how had things deteriorated into all this? Where had it all gone so wrong? His mind raced like a speeding bullet, heart pounding as he flounced around. He was every bit as much a prisoner of his own tormented mind as he was a physical captive in this hell hole that was now his home.

His long greasy hair clumped to his face and shaggy beard, accompanied by rusty flakes of dried blood and road dust. His dirty clothing was damp and sticky, also stinking of blood as well as sweat, grime and semen. Perhaps even vomit as well. It was the fetid rancor he now constantly dwelt in, the smell itself the testament of what his wretched life had become. That stench was permanently ingrained in his nose and his brain but occasionally he'd somehow forget only to be caught off guard and get a whiff of it. The putrid stink assailed his nostrils, causing him to recoil instantly. How long had it been since he'd had a shower? A shave or a haircut? How many days had he been trapped in this poison laced shithole? Had months gone by? Perhaps even years? He'd lost count as day after listless day dragged on, blurred together and faded into a single drab picture of bleakness. A sudden coughing fit erupted from his chest, forceful and without warning. 

As the hacking subsided, Jesse cackled madly, the outburst devoid of any humor. Those loud, sharp mucus filled spasms that came from his own chest immediately reminded him of Mr White.

“GODDAMNIT. Fuck YOU Mr. White!”

He screamed out into the echoing, comfortless darkness before another wave of coughing began. The use of his facial muscles in such a forceful, involuntary way caused his entire head to feel alight with searing pain, the deep open wounds that were left dry, scabbed over and completely untreated now being tugged apart, lying atop old scarring that had healed poorly to begin with. Jesse flopped over again, moaning in pain as the chains that trailed from his limbs to his waist twisted and jangled beneath him, cuffs and shackles clinking against the concrete.

The sobbing began again as quickly as the coughing had and Jesse suddenly remembered Jane.

_Jane. No baby, no!_

Suddenly Jesse's vision was overcome with the pale, washed out colors of the arid New Mexico desert, the last place Jesse saw before being stripped of his dignity, his freedom and his life. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, face contorted with grief as the worst memory of all, even worse if only by a little, than it had been to watch Andrea die. Because that memory, that horrible, earth shattering memory was more than his dying heart could bear. The betrayal, the loss of everything and the answer to the question that he himself had come to realize over and over again but refused to admit.

_Where did it all go wrong?_

***

“No, no!!” Jesse heard himself scream though his mangled, bloodstained lips didn't actually move. The harrowing images were somehow surreal, as they played through his mind for the millionth time like a horror movie that was stuck on repeat. It was the recurring nightmare that plagued his fitful times of rest as well, times which were always hard earned and realized only through complete physical and mental exhaustion; when he'd already endured a full day of torture and a seemingly eternal pitch black night of tears and abject loneliness. Now lying on his side, scarred cheek pressed to the rough floor below, he stared out through glassy vacant eyes as it all came flooding back. He blinked hard, muscles straining as the remembrances of the past took full hold of the shattered creature that was once Jesse Pinkman.

He felt the presence of a strong, oppressive evil looming above as he knelt, that force behind him ready to drag him away to his demise at any moment, as the harsh southwestern sun beamed down relentlessly overhead. The air was stagnant and dry, not even a breeze there to provide any sort of relief on this traumatically deplorable day. It felt as if the world itself had joined them to partake in his doom. It wasn't fair, all of this, it just wasn't fair. It wasn't right, none of it was how it should have been.

Jesse's face was a picture of grief, as it all unfolded, the casual discussion of how he would die. Aghast, he stared up at the man standing before him, the man he had once loved more than anything. The man who had sold him out and condemned him to die, at the hands of a psychopathic neo-Nazi biker gang. What the fuck was going on? Mr. White wasn't really going to go through with this, was he? Remember, remember Mr. White! What you said, what you loved to say, what you never allowed me to forget!

_“My Jesse. Now and always, you're mine. No matter what. And I will always take care of you.” Remember? Remember that shit, Mr. White? You meant it, I know you did! How could you just forget? Forget it all, like it was nothing, like I'm **nothing**. Come **on** Mr. White!! Jesus! They aren't just going to make it easy, you know that! They just came out and said it, Christ! They are going to torture me before they kill me, Mr. White! I thought I was yours! Take care of me. If you still want me dead so badly, do it yourself! Don't you owe me at least that much? If I am going to die for you at least let me die **beside you**! Don't let them do this, oh God. Don't let them take me away Mr. White...! If you want it so goddamned badly, kill me!_

_DO IT YOURSELF!_

Jesse pleaded with his eyes, red, inflamed tear stained things that they were, their usually gorgeous oceanic blue framed by puffy discolored lids, his entire expression strained and disbelieving. Surreal, gut wrenching, pain like no other wracked his soul and hung heavy in his chest, his insides burning and twisting like knotted ropes. The sensation was worse than any trauma he'd ever suffered in his entire misery filled life. His parents' disconnected lack of love, all the insults he'd endured, the deaths of those he'd loved, all the abuse he'd suffered, none of it was as bad as knowing Mr. White wanted him dead and worst of all, he'd allow strangers to do it. Cold, calculating, sterile. Not having the balls to watch Jesse exhale his last breath or hold his trembling hand as he closed his eyes for the last time. 

This wasn't really happening. It couldn't really be happening! Mr. White was going to call it off, stop it all, do something to save him! He'd sinned against Mr. White – no, **Heisenberg**. But even the cold and detached monster that Walt had become, Heisenberg – was going to step in, change his mind. Jesse had been wrong and would willingly pay. He'd submit to any punishment Mr. White would inflict on him, except abandonment. Anything but that, anything! No matter how painful, no matter how difficult, Jesse could do it as long as Mr. White did not abandon him. Even death, he would accept as retribution as long as the execution came through his lover's hands, in private. He'd gladly die in Mr. White's arms. He was already dead inside anyway and had been from the moment he'd started talking to that fat son of a bitch, Hank Schrader.

Suddenly that evil presence behind him manifested as the rough, unwelcome arms of a complete stranger looped around his shoulders to lift him to his feet and drag him away. Jesse hung there limply like a rag doll for a moment before a final burst of desperation broke through his typically submissive disposition. He flailed, fighting for his life as he was being helplessly taken away but it was not the in form of brute force. He tried to get through to Mr. White, one last time. It was all he had left to try.

“No. No!” Jesse screamed, dragging his feet in an attempt to buy some time. These last fleeting seconds were vital. “No! NO!” He wailed, voice raspy and panic stricken as he shifted his body weight, trying to wriggle free long enough to implore for his reprieve one last time. Mr. White wasn't even looking at him. It wasn't going to work. It was over and done. Jesse felt his heart break in the most literal of ways, pain so excruciating he didn't even think it possible to exist. Nothing was as terrible as this. Nothing!

“Wait.” Walt said flatly, tone stern and sharp.

The nasty brute that was restraining him came to a stop, as Jesse stared back at Mr. White through pleading, hopeful eyes. Jesse hung there in the man's arms, limply as Mr. White took a step towards them.

_That's it Mr. White! Save me, c'mon. Don't let it end like this! You can stop it. You still love me, don't you Mr. White? Even if I have to die, **you still love me**!_

Jesse panted loudly, struggling for breath as he watched Mr. White continue his approach, chest heaving as time seemed to creep by with a wicked deliberation. He hung on to every moment, every step, trying to read the haggard emotionless mask that was Mr. White's face. No, no wait, there was something there, was it remorse, sadness? Jesse was too ensnared in the throes of panic and anxiety to tell. His vision was blurry, thoughts erratic.

Walt furrowed his brow, staring directly into Jesse's eyes. He stole a moment to gaze into that void of stony yet vibrant green, those always intense eyes that once, not so long ago, could cause Jesse to shudder despite any effort to resist or play it cool.

“I watched Jane die.” Walt said calmly, with a matter of fact tone as if he were reporting on the weather.

_W-what?_

Jesse scoffed, transfixed. 

_What?_

What did Mr. White just say? No. No, that couldn't possibly be right.

_No! No, god. No!_

Jesse's eyes suddenly brimmed with fresh tears as the weight of that statement slowly seeped in. That heavy, broken feeling in his chest began its final metamorphosis, the birth of the slow dull ache of abject defeat that would accompany him to his captivity in hell itself. That feeling blooming in his core, it was the beginning of the death of his soul itself, he just didn't know it yet. 

“I was there. And I watched her die.” Walter said point blank, with the killing precision of a trained sniper.

Jesse hung there, trapped in his horror as the most bitter tears he'd ever shed threatened to roll down his cheeks. He felt his throat tighten, like he was suffocating, the muscles of his neck quivering as he struggled to choke out words that refused to come.

”I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn't.” 

His words were frigid, unfeeling and remorseless. Another nail in Jesse Pinkman's coffin. The last of many nails that systematically condemned him and led along the agonizing, downward spiral that had been the final years of Jesse's wasted life. And all those nails slowly and deliberately added along the way? Mr. White himself, all Jesse had to hold onto – he had put them there.

As Mr. White turned on his heels to walk away from him for the last time, every drop of fight drained from Jesse as his blood ran cold. He let the strange man drag him off to what he knew would be an excruciating and brutally long, painful death but he no longer cared anymore. Not at all. There was no way anything could be any worse than what he'd just suffered.

Jesse looked back from the rear seat, neck craned sharply as the dusty, pale blue ford pulled away. He watched Mr. White, emotions writhing in the pit of his stomach like a nest of vipers. Rage, resentment and what should have been nothing but the purest form of hate. It would have been just that; dark, transforming, all consuming hate that would have been instilled in anyone. Anyone but Jesse Pinkman. He knew he would never see Mr. White again and despite all the agony he now felt, that realization filled him with sorrow.

_Don't look back? That's what they say but I just can't do that..._

Jesse stared through the rear window.

Mr. White stood there, posture too perfect, motionless, staged. Strained past the breaking point.

_What...?_

Jesse stared through the rear window.

Mr. White was staring right back at him.

Jesse was ready to die.

***

_Where did it all go wrong...? No. No, now I get it. Nothing went wrong, nothing ever changed. You never loved me at all. I was just too fucking stupid to see that. I was never anything more than your bitch, Mr. White._

Jesse's chest heaved as his sobbing intensified. No more thin wailing or the simple shedding of tears. Jesse wept with all the strength he had left as the truth seeped into him like the bitter venom of a poisonous snake. At some point it had begun to rain while he'd been lost in the dark vortex of his own thoughts, the heavy pelting against the tarp overhead reminding him that he would never see freedom ever again.


	3. What About a Robot?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walt's plans change after discovering Jesse is still alive.

After an anti-climatic birthday breakfast and an even more anti-climatic return to his former house, Walt was exponentially more brooding than usual. It was amazing how things in his life always snowballed, careened out of control without any sort of precursor to the fact. He checked his trunk, one last time. No longer filled with cash, he now had an extreme amount of heavy weaponry and all the tools he'd need to complete an incredibly important job, all neatly stashed away inconspicuously in the back of his car.

Oh, how strange things had suddenly become, though he was rather thankful for one incredibly important bit of information. Had he not had the foresight to recruit those idiots, Beaver and... what was his name? Scrawny Peter? Had he not convinced them to take part in terrifying Gretchen and Elliott with laser pointers, why... he never would have learned that Jesse was still alive. That news alone was well worth the money he'd paid them.

_My Jesse is alive..._

Now he stood, alone in the desert, staring into the trunk. The drive out here had made him feel rather nostalgic. It was all coming to a close. Tonight, he would meet up with Jack. He didn't doubt that he would be allowed into the compound, whether the offer he'd filtered through Todd was accepted or not. That was the one good thing about working with the shadier individuals. They would always take well placed bait, even if their personal motives were far different than taking up what was being proposed.

“ _Hey, you got the C-bomb, man. All right? You're as good as checked out already. Okay? You should be, like, all sacrificial, jumping on a grenade, yo.”_

Walt growled under his breath as he began unloading his equipment from the trunk, arranging it on the hot New Mexico sand as he mused to himself, his thoughts drifting away to a time that seemed so long ago. Another one of those times that when it was current, was nothing short of infuriating and nearly fatal but fond in reminiscence. Time spent with Jesse.

***

“Okay, you need to cut out all your loser crybaby crap right now and think of something scientific!” Jesse yelled, snapping at Walt, getting all up in his face and prodding at him. The kid certainly could be annoying when he wanted to be, that much was certain.

“Something... Something scientific, right.” Walt gave a sarcastic, hollow laugh at the suggestion, lying weakly on the cot. Oh, it was so hot in here. Hard to breathe, not good for his already strained and weary lungs. He desperately needed water and he feared that it was just a matter of time before he coughed up more blood. Walt hadn't liked Jesse's reaction to that at all. That look on Jesse's face, expression contorted with worry and pain, a thousand unspoken words relayed in those impossibly blue eyes. It made Walt feel very uncomfortable. It was a type of reaction he'd never seen before, not even from his own family. It hurt.

“What? Come **on** , man. You're smart, all right? You made poison out of beans, yo.” Jesse reminded him before backing away. He wandered towards the rear of the RV, looking around the counter top that was lined with supplies.

“All right, look. We got-- We got an entire lab, right here, all right? How about you take some of these chemicals and mix up some-- some **rocket** fuel?” Jesse said with added emphasis. “And we can just send up a signal flare. Or you make some kind of robot to get us help, or a homing device, or build a new battery, or... or wait, no. What if we just take some stuff off of the RV and build it into something completely different?” He implored, brainstorming out loud, words fast and slightly disjointed as he wracked his brain for an answer. What he lacked in know-how, he certainly made up for it with determination. Quite an imagination he had, too.

Walt lifted his left arm and waved to try to get Jesse's attention. The kid's sudden enthusiasm was infectious, even if it was comprised of mostly insane notions and delivered in a completely rambling format. Despite the lack of practicality, the fervor had caused Walt to finally snap out of his defeatist funk, and that was rather worthy of merit in itself. If they were gonna die out here, goddamn it, it should be only after every attempt within their means was made, no matter how much of a long shot any of Jesse's hair brained ideas were.

Y _ou have the luxury of just giving up. Jesse doesn't. He has a long life ahead of him._

"You know, like a... like a dune buggy." Jesse continued, prattling on with childlike enthusiasm. It was ridiculously cute. “And that way, we can just dune-buggy or..."

Walt slowly began to sit up, a worthwhile idea beginning to take shape.

"What? Hey..." Jesse turned, noticing Mr. White suddenly beginning to stir from his spot at last. "What is it?" He took a couple of steps towards the older man. "What?" Jesse implored, sharply.

"Do you-- Do you have any money?" Walt inquired, sounding pensive, as if he was still mulling over the efficacy of his own idea. "Change, I mean. Coins."

"Yeah. I got a bunch from the--" Jesse began to explain, pointing towards the cab.

"Okay." Walt cut him off, waving towards Jesse as he turned around a bit more, to face him.

"Yes!" Jesse exclaimed.

"Gather them." Walt ordered flatly as he rose to his feet. "A-a-and washers and nuts and bolts and screws..." he continued, waving about in a very animated fashion. "And whatever little pieces of metal we can think of that is galvanized." Walt explained in that passionate, excitable way that only seemed to manifest in him when it involved science. He pointed at Jesse again. "It has to be galvanized or... or solid zinc."

"Solid zinc, okay..." Jesse trailed. What the hell did galvanized mean anyway? Best to leave that shit alone and just stick with what he knew. Walt immediately picked up on the fact Jesse had avoided the galvanized part entirely. He'd teach Jesse all about the process and its benefits one day, if they got out of here alive. For now, he could practice locating zinc items in general whether solid or galvanized, while helping them both get the hell out of here.

"A-a-a-and-- And bring me--" Walt plotted aloud. "Bring me brake pads. The front wheels should have discs. Take them off and bring them to me."

"Okay. Break pads, okay." Jesse replied with a wicked grin, his entire face practically lighting up with adoration as he stared back at Walt through those goddamned ridiculous blue eyes.

Walt didn't care for that expression at all. It was distracting. "Break pads!" Walt growled with sudden hostility, kicking a tool box in Jesse's direction, using more force than needed. The outburst and sharp loudness of metal sliding against metal caught Jesse off guard. Gasping suddenly, he immediately began to comply, doing exactly as he'd been told. Interesting reaction. Walt liked that quite a lot.

Jesse panted, leaning down to pick up the toolbox by its handle. He sneered at the older man before heading out to go do his assigned job. After taking a couple of steps he stopped prematurely and turned his head back to Walt, suddenly realizing he had no idea what the goal actually was.

"What are we building?" He asked, peering at his former teacher.

"You said it yourself." Walt replied, almost but just shy of giving Jesse a real, actual compliment. All traces of his impromptu explosion were gone. It was a fun game, toying with Jesse.

"A robot?!" Jesse asked excitedly.

 ***

“A robot...” Walt muttered aloud, as he continued his work. He'd have to move quickly and efficiently, not even having the time to properly test out this contraption. The math was good, the theory was sound. A quick trial run. It would have to be enough. There simply wasn't enough time for anything more extensive. It had to work. It had to.

A few twists here, some adjustments there. It had to work. His own personal survival was not even an issue at this point. But the device had to take out as many of Jack's gang as possible. He simply couldn't leave them alive. Eradicating them would be his last mission. It was funny, how he'd called the police on himself just a short time ago, ready to just throw in the towel and end it all in a rather enervated, unceremonious fashion. Oh, how impulsive that had been, and weak. Leaving before securing his family's finances through Gretchen and Elliott, before taking care of that manipulative bitch, Lydia. Before plotting out how to single-handedly take out an entire gang...

_What about Jesse?_

It was fortunate that the Schwartz's had made that television appearance. Shit, how many loose ends was he going to carelessly leave, before they had angered him that night? Sure, he had nothing left to live for and little time regardless but that was no excuse for being so careless and sloppy. He was going to assure, once and for all, that there would be no threats left, to haunt or terrorize his family once he was gone. Not Heisenberg, hell no. No more threats. And no more peddling of **his** product. Blue Sky was his legacy and he would take it to his grave. Grey Matter was handled. Lydia was as good as taken care of. The gang would also be taken care of very, very shortly. No loose ends. No more half measures.

_Except Jesse._

An automatic rifle and a plethora of bullets. Duct tape and jumper cables and the endless humming of old tunes under the desert sun. Was it odd, that he was humming, that he was enjoying this? Building this death dealing... robot?

_Jesse._

He'd handle that problem too, in some way. He wasn't quite sure how just yet. He wasn't certain how he truly felt about knowing that his boy was still out there, and alive. On the one hand, he was furious that Jesse had survived. No one crossed Heisenberg and lived, and that went for Jack as well as Jesse. If Jesse was alive and Jack had spared him, that made for two counts. Unacceptable. At the same time, Walter couldn't help but wonder if knowing Jesse was still alive was why he was humming. Then again, that would be a cruel and contradictory sort of fleeting, false happiness. Because... he'd just have to kill Jesse too. Goddamn, that was almost like killing Jesse twice. This hand, that hand. The other hand. He'd run out of hands. Out of options, out of justifications and now he was simply baking under the New Mexico sun while arguing with himself.

_No more half measures..._

Why was he contemplating Jesse's demise, anyway? Hadn't he punished himself, wallowed in self loathing the whole drive here, over the very fact he'd been stupid enough to kill the one thing he had loved the most? Hadn't he also languished and stewed over it the entire time he'd been holed up in New Hampshire? Impotent, useless fantasies of sacrificing himself to save Jesse when he'd been assumed dead, now suddenly evolving into murderous plotting against him once realizing he was alive?

Why did facing death make a man of logic so illogical? All men would face their end one day. That was a simple inarguable facet of life. So why did the simple fact of knowing when it would come, instead of it being an enigma, change a man so drastically? Walt was quickly becoming frustrated with himself and his complicated, contradictory thoughts. Why was he even conflicted about this whole situation?

_Because before, it was different. It was wrong then. It was so very wrong. You were manipulated into it, you never wanted to do it in the first place and even though you did a good job at becoming a remorseless bastard, that was the one thing in your fucked up life you regretted, killing Jesse. It was a mistake. This is not the same thing._

“You're a selfish, heartless prick and you want Jesse all to yourself. You want him standing on the other side, already there waiting for you, when you die.” Walt choked out through a strained and gravely voice, speaking aloud to the empty, silent desert.

For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to cry freely without holding back for the sake of his preconceived image. Walt had done a very good job of convincing everyone, including himself, that he didn't give a shit about anything anymore. Deep down he had probably always known it was all a lie, but he'd learned long ago, that if you tell the same lies enough, even you start to believe them.

A dry, hacking and exceptionally painful cough ripped its way through Walter's lungs, relentless and wicked. He saw flashing white spots dance before his eyes as he felt something coming up his esophagus from the depths of his chest. It was distasteful but he'd gone through this far too many times to feel any genuine disgust. He spat angrily to the sand below.

Blood. Pure, deep red blood.

_Time is running out. Its now or never._

Looking out across the desert for the last time, so many memories flooded Walt's mind. Many of them were happy memories of Jesse, but even those didn't last. He couldn't hold on to them, at all. There was no hope of ever being with Jesse in any capacity ever again. Walt would never be able to hold Jesse in his arms, breathe in the soft scent of his skin or run his fingers through his silky blond hair, ever again. There would never be any more stolen kisses or stolen moments. No more laughter, heartfelt discussions or heated arguments. He'd never teach Jesse anything ever again, nor ever see that look in Jesse's eyes. That look of purest awe and amazement; the look of complete adoration, that once, Walt had damn near lived for.

Even if he could take out all of Jack's gang and reach Jesse, there was no way Jesse could ever forgive him. He made absolutely sure of that because at the time, Walt simply couldn't bear the thought of Jesse dying at his command with complete and unfettered loyalty to him still intact. The thought disgusted Walt, made his stomach churn. And he knew for a fact that he could completely abuse Jesse, even to the point of death and that the stupid boy would somehow still love him all the while. Even selling him out to those goddamned Nazi scumbags hadn't been enough to taint Jesse's love for him. Walt didn't understand it at all, how all encompassing Jesse's love had been. He'd seen it surface time after time, even after he'd thought he'd long since destroyed it. No matter how bad things got, that love never changed.

***

Why wouldn't Jack just hurry up and fucking pull the goddamned trigger! Walt's eyes narrowed, heart pounding furiously as he waited for it all to hurry up and end. It was beyond maddening, Walt teetering just precariously above the very threads of sanity. He would surely snap if this nightmare didn't end soon. His Jesse had to go, there was no other choice. But goddamn it, that didn't make it easy.

Walt narrowed his eyes as Todd abruptly stopped the execution, relaying something about information to Jack. What was that? Walter squinted, face a forced blank mask, harsh green eyes fixated on the two men standing in front of him. Extracting information from Jesse. Information he'd given Hank? Was that it? Most likely. As much as Walt didn't like it, what Todd was saying sounded valid.

_How could you betray me like that, you ungrateful little son of a bitch!_

Jesse was on his knees, staring up at Walter. His expression was one of a man, no... a child, a broken, terrified child. It seemed no matter how old Jesse grew nor how burdened he became with guilt, he still had the eyes of a child. Walter's anger cooled immediately, nothing but grief remained. But it was too late to turn back. It had all come full circle to this terrible end, it couldn't be changed. It was just too late.

_I'm sorry. You have every right to hate me. Hate me, Jesse. For the love of God, hate me for what I have done to you._

Crystal clear baby blue eyes. Innocent and pure. Walt had made the mistake of looking into them a moment ago and it had felt as though his very soul was being sucked out of his body. Electric shock impulses, cold dread searing holes in his chest and a metallic taste on his tongue all served to remind him of what he was doing. He had to stay strong, focus and work hard to keep from fainting. He'd already been traumatized beyond repair by witnessing the death of Hank, anxiety and adrenaline surging through his body.

_I don't want to do this. God knows I don't want to do this. I have no choice. I have no choice. You stupid son of a bitch, why don't you have enough sense to at least hate me for it?!_

Walt quickly stole another glance down towards Jesse, trying to be so quick that the boy didn't register that Walt had even tilted his gaze downwards. It had been a mistake. Jesse had indeed noticed, he was hanging on to Walt's every breath. And Jesse's face was somehow just as beautiful as ever, if not more so. It was a cutting, killing beauty that was destroying Walter's heart.

Jesse was mouthing something. It was... what was Jesse trying to say? Walter wasn't sure he wanted to know. Those pleading, soulful blue eyes were ripping him apart as it was. His face was flushed, framed by a silky layer of soft facial hair. His buzz cut was also growing out. It looked so silky and fine. Walt wanted to touch it one last time, run his palm along the top of Jesse's head, trail his fingers along that delicate, fuzzy jawline. He shook his head 'no' one single time at Walt, lips parted. So desperate, so needy, hanging on to Walt's every move like always. Even now, with Jesse's life on the line, it somehow seemed to Walt that his approval was what Jesse was seeking, even more than his life. Walt ached, burned to kneel down with him, lift him up and take him in his arms, hold him tightly and take him away from here, forever.

_We should have vanished. We should have left long ago. Built a brand new life together. I should have spent the rest of my life, as short as it would have been, with you. We would have been happy. I would have taken care of you until my dying day. But the past is gone, baby. It can't be like that anymore. But you will have your revenge soon, my Jesse. I'm already in Hell._

Walt registered that Jack and Todd were still talking but he no longer heard their words. He was fixated on Jesse. He shook his head again, pleading. Walt's eyes narrowed further still, tiny, angry green slits burning into the boy before him. What?

He stared at Jesse.

Some words had never been spoken between the two of them, ever. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Walt had never said them out of pride. Jesse, most likely out of fear, not knowing how Mr. White would have reacted. But that didn't make it untrue.

He stared at Jesse.

Silently, in his desperate final moments, Jesse struggled. “...I...l...love...y...” He lowered his head.

Walt suddenly felt his mind explode, white-hot embers searing his flesh as if he'd been showered with burning ashes. His once-cold heart suddenly ignited, blood racing through his constricted veins with fervor and intensity, breathing life into his cancer ridden body with a force he'd scarcely ever known or at least long since forgotten. It was passionate, all consuming, welling up inside him and threatening to swallow him whole. Transformation, in the form of lucid, unrelenting, undiluted hatred.

He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, fighting back with all the strength he could muster to try to remain calm.

_How DARE you still love me after all I have done to destroy you! To ruin you! I am sending you to your death! How dare you tell me that you love me, now. I am not worthy of your love, Jesse Bruce Pinkman!_

Jesse looked up at Walter again. He mouthed “C'mon...” silently, pleading for help.

Walter couldn't take this any longer.

“Works for me, work for you?” Jack asked Walter, in reference to taking Jesse away.

Walter nodded with one single, deliberate downward motion.

_Will that make you see? Will that make you realize how much of a monster I am? Hate me, Jesse. For all that I have done to you._

Walter didn't move, didn't turn around as they dragged away the love of his life. He wasn't going to look back. It would hurt too much, maybe even give Jesse false hope and that was a sin he didn't want to commit, on top of everything else.

“No, no!” Jesse screamed frantically, kicking and pleading. “No, NO!!” His voice was raw and hoarse.

_FUCK. Goddamn it all. Jesse, why are you so loyal? Why are you so fucking stubborn!?_

Walt couldn't stand it. He could hear it in Jesse's voice. Despite the panic, the desperate pleading. He could hear the adoration, the need in Jesse's cries.

_I have to do it. I have to make you hate me if its the last thing I ever do! I am not your hero and I was never worthy of your love! I completely destroyed your life, don't you remember that, Jesse!?_

“Wait.” Walt said flatly, tone stern and sharp. He then turned quickly on his heels, staring at the man holding Jesse down. He contemplated what to say for a moment, but it wasn't hard. Once he'd had his plan laid out he fixed his eyes on Jesse, stare callous and hard. He knew exactly what to say to make Jesse understand. To make Jesse hate him once and for all.

Jesse panted loudly, his lean chest heaving heavily as Walt approached. All of Jesse's attention was fixed on him. Forever pleading. Begging.

_I'm sorry I have to do this but you leave me with no choice._

“I watched Jane die.” Walt said coolly, keeping his emotions under control as best as could. He hoped the agony he felt in every single cell of his body was properly concealed. This would never work if Jesse saw through it. It was the truth, at least Walt need not worry about that, but he had to appear as wicked and detached as possible if he was ever going to set Jesse straight.

Jesse scoffed. It didn't seem like his words had registered yet. Walt continued.

“I was there. And I watched her die.” Walter said bitterly, staring into Jesse's eyes. They were so beautiful, like the sky. Clear, pure and innocent, fixed on him lovingly and as if his existence depended on him. Which of course, it did. Walt was cutting the last lifeline and the fact seemed to finally be realized. Jesse's crystal blue eyes began to fill with moisture, the tears surfacing as soon as the realization hit home. Walter felt as though he'd swallowed a bowl full of glass shards. That expression, so unadulterated, such genuine pain. Disappointment. Disbelief, as if his whole world was crumbling beneath his feet. Even worse than death. Walt could see it plainly on his face, now. It was working.

”I watched her overdose and choke to death. I could have saved her. But I didn't.” Walt said, completing his verbal onslaught. He had to deliver the final blow, to make sure Jesse truly understood the totality of it. He absolutely had to ensure that he wouldn't be able to try to twist things around, justify it in his own mind after they had parted ways. Under no uncertain terms, no misunderstandings, no mistakes, even if it destroyed whatever was left of Walt in the process.

_I'm sorry Jesse, but I cannot allow you to take your love for me to your grave. I'm so sorry baby. Forgive me. You wanted Heisenberg? Well, you got him._

As soon as Walt was sure his work was complete, he turned and walked away. He couldn't allow Jesse to see his face for any longer than what was completely necessary. The longer it dragged out, the greater the chances of Jesse figuring out his motives.

_I wish it had turned out differently... but at least know this. You never killed her. You never killed anyone, not even Gale. I take it all upon myself. I killed them all, for your sake as much as my own. I can't make you understand that now. Its too late, too much went wrong. But you're free now, Jesse._

As soon as Walt heard the car door slam, he turned around. He stood with perfect posture, like a posed mannequin. Forced, strained and not at all natural.

He watched the old Ford sedan pull away, taking whatever was left of his heart, along with it.

Jesse turned and looked back at him, locking eyes with Walt one final time. 

_Don't look back, Jesse!_

Walt clenched his teeth as he fought to stay on his feet, stave off the sudden dizziness. Impending rage.

That look, that goddamned **look** was still on Jesse's face...

***

Walt coughed again, loose and wet as the tears he'd suppressed that day finally surfaced. Crying twice in one day, pathetic really. He sniffled loudly and wiped at his eyes but it was rather futile. More just reappeared each time he'd remove them. Letting out a rather heavy sigh, he checked and double checked everything one last time, before sliding in the driver's seat, heading out of this private slice of the desert that seemed more like home than anywhere else these days, knowing he'd never come back again.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Recharging Batteries, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter is a single flashback from Jesse's perspective, taking part during 4 Days Out, as a continuation of Walt's flashback in the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section gave me a bit of trouble. It turned out to be much longer than intended and took off in unexpected ways. Because of that I ended up splitting it into parts and making the overall idea longer than a single chapter. Fluff starts here, smuttier content to follow.
> 
> I never planned to get into this territory in my first fic, but I suppose some things just can't be controlled.

***

They were both sweaty, stressed out and disgusted by the time Walt pulled the Crystal Ship into the dirt caked parking lot. She was idling a bit high, shocks creaking, various parts rattling as he navigated her to a space near the lobby window of some shabby motel in the middle of nowhere off route 66, south of Canoncito Reservation.

“Yo, you think this is such a good place to park, bitch? I mean... **really**.” Jesse trailed as he stared dubiously at Walt, brow furrowed, mouth hanging open. His nerves were frayed, still on edge from their ordeal in the desert but even so, his question sounded a bit more hostile than he'd intended. He immediately regretted speaking but it was too late to take it back.

“Of course it is, less chance of it getting stolen if its in plain sight near the office, **genius**.” Walt snapped back harshly, his irritation evident. Jesse had gotten on his nerves more times than he could count these last few days and he made no attempts to hide that. His expression was damned near hateful. “Give it a rest.”

“Yeah, but what if someone breaks in or somethin'... I dunno, just seems better to park over there if you ask me, yo...” Jesse trailed softly, voice cracking with obvious anxiety as he pointed past Walter to the left, towards the end of the lot. He tried to explain his original train of thought and defuse the situation, staring bashfully into Walter's furious green eyes.

“Yes but I didn't ask you, Jesse.” Walt replied in consternation. “You think this beat up RV really looks like its carrying something all that valuable, from the outside? No, I don't think so. It stays right where it is.” He barked.

_Christ, why do I even put up with your cranky old ass?_

Jesse just sat there, hands in his jacket pockets, brows still pressed together as Walt turned the key and removed it from the ignition. He dropped the keyring in his pocket and pulled the latch, opening the door.

“If we let you to do the thinking here, you'll leave the keys in the ignition again and we won't be able to even leave here in the morning.” Walt spat bitterly as he slid from his seat, then slammed the door shut again as soon as he landed on solid ground.

“Oh Mr. White, come on!” Jesse wailed in exasperation as he watched Walter walk by, heading towards the lobby door. “We just got outta there, don't you think you've said it enough? I mean, you've only been beating me up about it for, oh... I dunno, every single second since it happened! Why don't **you** give it a rest?”

_Just rub in every fucking mistake I make, why don't you? Just torture me with it for the rest of my life. Why do you put up with me if I suck at everything so much, Mr. White?_

Walt turned around briefly, shooting a wry smirk in Jesse's direction before heading inside. It was almost as if Mr. White could read his thoughts. Jesse sighed, shoulders slumping as he waited. Looking around the parking lot, the motel didn't seem like it got a great deal of business. It was a derelict, run down kinda place and truly in the middle of nowhere. An also shabby gas station across the street was the only other building in sight and this little pit stop had been the first sign of civilization they'd seen for hours. Jesse assumed the only guests that ever stayed here were most likely exhausted travelers that needed a break, the area seemed too inconvenient to be another Crystal Palace. There weren't even all that many sections, maybe about a couple of dozen or so; just a single floor of decrepit rooms partitioned from the washed out looking building that jutted harshly against the pale landscape.

Jesse rolled down the window the rest of the way, fidgeted for a while, then drummed some obscure beat on the dash with both hands as he waited for Mr. White to return. What the hell was taking so long? It would be fitting, just more of their recently rotten luck, that there wouldn't be any vacancies but that seemed damned near impossible. The area wasn't exactly jumping and there were only a few cars parked in the lot, it seemed like there should have been plenty of free rooms.

_Fuck._

Jesse let out another impatient sigh as he slumped down further into his seat, looking rather sullen. He rummaged around in the pockets of his red and black hoodie, eventually procuring a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. After all they'd been through, Mr. White's crabby old ass could get over him smoking. He shook a cigarette from the pack, lit it and inhaled deeply. Cramming the pack of Wilmington lights back into his pocket he made a mental note to hit up that convenience store across the street as soon as they'd settled in, he only had a couple smokes left and it didn't seem like tonight would be a particularly exciting evening.

Chain smoking, watching some boring ass old show on the only channel this stupid place could get, eating funyuns and masturbating. At least it would be better than dying of dehydration in the middle of the desert. The chance to rest would be appreciated after the last couple of days they'd had, and they still had some time to kill before Mr. White had to be back in Albuquerque.

He exhaled sharply, blowing out a pillar of smoke as Mr. White finally emerged from the office. He didn't look too happy, judging by his cranky expression as he walked up to the passenger's side door.

“Jesse.” He said flatly, glaring up at the younger man. “They're having some issues with the plumbing, something about the pipes, half the place flooded last week. All they've got available are two rooms, one with a full bed and the other with two twins and I had to fight for those, apparently one of them was already reserved. The amount of money I had to throw at the greasy slob behind the counter, I could have outright bought the place. You better appreciate it.”

Jesse rolled his eyes, tilting his head back as he took another drag from his cigarette. “And I suppose you're just gonna assume I'm okay with you getting the bigger bed.” He scoffed, exhaling another plume of smoke.

“You got it. After all, I did all the work getting us a place to stay **and** I'm the one who paid for it. I don't know about you kid, but to me, anything is better than spending another night in the RV. So shut up and let's get settled in.” Walt said, handing a key to Jesse through the open window. “They aren't consecutive rooms either, you're down there on the end.” He explained, pointing. “I have no idea if its a smoking room either.” Walt added bitterly, waving a hand in front of his face as he glared at Jesse.

“Yo, why you always gotta be so condescending, all judgmental and shit.” Jesse scoffed before snatching the offered key, opening the door and hopping out.

An hour or so later found Jesse in his room, freshly showered, wearing nothing but a pair of neon green satin boxers and feeling a great deal better than he had before. He was sprawled out rather lazily across the twin bed that was closest to the door, staring off at the television. He'd been right, the reception was utter shit and there was only one channel but at least, somehow the ancient relic of an air conditioner worked. That was a tradeoff he'd gladly take. He stretched, glancing over to the backpack he'd hastily thrown a few essentials into for this four day trip. He needed to get dressed and go shopping, grab some smokes and junk food. He didn't really feel like it but the sooner he he got his provisions, the sooner he could veg out for the rest of the night and not have to worry about it.

Besides, he only had one cigarette left and he was hungry.

Suddenly there was a loud, angry sounding knock at his door.

_Oh, Christ. Go away._

Knowing damned well who was on the other side, Jesse let out a disheartened sigh and slowly rose from the bed, making his way towards the stained round table where his backpack, containing his clothes, rested.

“Jesse!” A harsh shout from the other side of the door.

“Keep your underwear on, bitch! I'm coming, Jesus, hold up!” Jesse grumbled and shook his head, grabbing a pair of acid washed jeans that were at least five sizes too big. He bent forward, slipped them quickly over his legs, hopping a couple of times as he stood, then zipped up and buttoned them. He thought he heard Mr. White complaining on the other side of the door but it was mostly muffled. Thank god. Jesse grabbed a simple web styled canvas belt and slid it through the loops as quickly as he could, fastened it and made his way over to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. Didn't the old asshole have any patience, like, ever?

“Yo.”

“Hey.”

He blinked dubiously. Mr. White was standing there, almost... what? Was he actually smiling? Jesse tilted his head, questioningly. It looked like he'd showered, too. And changed clothes, wearing a short sleeved white button up shirt with some lame blue square pattern and a pair of those stupid khakis he'd never seemed to run out of. Typical.

Walter lifted his left hand, a six pack of cheap beer in his grasp. “Come on, let's just relax for a while. I have a little surprise for you as well.” He called over his shoulder as he walked back towards his room, not even waiting for a response. Jesse scoffed, dashed back into his room, grabbed his key, last cigarette and lighter from the table and headed out, locking the door behind him. Sliding the various items into the front pockets of his jeans, he walked quickly, catching up to Mr. White. What the hell was this about, all of a sudden?

_Surprise? Like, what? Another lecture on how much of an utter failure I am? Great. Or was that like, an attempt at an apology or some shit?_

As Walt walked into the open door of his room, Jesse looked around. Mr. White's room was right by the lobby and therefore, right behind the RV. It had all worked out pretty well. He grunted and walked in, peering around. Walt quickly closed and locked the door as soon as Jesse had entered. There was a second six pack of Miller light on the table, as well as two plates, each containing greasy looking cheeseburgers and mounds of fries. Damn, there was even an unopened blue pack of cigarettes on the table. Wilmington lights. Jesse's preferred brand and type. Wow.

_What the fuck?_

Jesse quirked a brow at Mr. White as he made his way past Jesse, placing the other six pack of beer on the table before he sat in a weathered looking chair.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there all day? Come on, sit down and eat before it gets cold.” Walter urged, taking two beers out of the case and opening them, one at a time, against the edge of the table. “Turns out the employees all live here, so there's a kitchen. They don't usually cook for guests but its amazing what a little encouragement and a little money can convince people to do.” He remarked slyly as Jesse finally slid into the other seat.

“Uh, thanks...” Jesse said awkwardly, picking up a single french fry and eating it, more out of nervousness than hunger but it was surprisingly good. It had been a long time since he'd eaten and the taste of food reminded him of that. This was certainly better than the bagged crap he'd assumed would be his dinner.

“You're welcome.” Walt said gently, sliding one of the bottles towards Jesse before taking a swig from his own.

He was being nice for once. So it was an apology after all, or as close as he'd ever get to one from Mr. White, arrogant old fuck that he was. Well, Jesse would accept it. Hell, this even had the potential to be pleasant, maybe even **fun**. Jesse noticed that the TV was on, volume a low hum, the same boring shit playing here that he'd been watching in his own room. Some black and white western, probably older than Mr. White.

They ate, mostly in silence aside from a small comment here and there. They'd both been famished and for the shabbiness of the place, the food actually was good. Jesse had just polished off the last fry, reaching over for another bottle of beer when he noticed suddenly, that Mr. White was looking at him all funny. Jesse didn't know what to think of it but it made him feel a little uncomfortable, his heartbeat increasing in response.

_How long you been staring me down like that, you creep?_

“Uh, yo. What gives, Mr. White?” Jesse inquired, quirking a brow in confusion while trying to seem nonchalant. He was strangely out of breath.

“Hm?” Walter uttered quietly, green eyes still locked on Jesse.

“You're all like, staring at me...” Jesse said quietly, twisting the cap off his beer bottle and carelessly letting it drop it to the threadbare carpet. He nervously fished the last cigarette out of his pocket and lit it rather shakily, not caring if Mr. White fussed at him for it. At least it would be less awkward than this bullshit. It seemed like it took far too long for the son of a bitch to answer him and Jesse had noticed that Mr. White's gaze wasn't stationary after all, but traveling along his form. From his messy blond hair, to his eyes, then his lips, finally dropping to the curves of Jesse's chest and back again; Mr. White stared rather shamelessly. And god, it was so **obvious**.

_Jesus, what the hell?_

“You're not wearing a shirt. Why.” Walter said flatly. It didn't actually seem to be a question at all, but rather, an observation. He was eerily motionless.

_Oh. Right._

Jesse gulped down some of his beer, took another drag off his cigarette, this time long and slow as he mulled things over. He'd completely forgotten he was only half dressed, then again why did that even matter? He blushed, watching Walt grab and open another beer as well. There was only one left, Jesse suddenly realized. Damn, Mr. White sure could knock 'em back. He'd just started on his second and Walt was already making short work of his third.

“I dunno, man. I had just gotten out of the shower when you knocked, I wasn't even dressed yet. I wasn't wearing anything but my boxers at the time, and your impatient old ass wasn't waiting much longer, so. Yeah, yo. You get what you get, not like it matters anyway. You're lucky I even put on this much.” Jesse rambled.

Walt didn't skip a beat, his response dark and flat. “Maybe you shouldn't have bothered getting dressed, indeed.”

“What the fuck, Mr. White!?” Jesse squealed, voice cracking.

“Oh nothing.” Walter responded with a smile. “You just said it yourself, 'not like it matters anyway'.”

Jesse's mind was racing. What the fuck indeed. What was going on here? Was Mr. White flirting with him? If so, he was coming on strong, way too strong and out of fucking nowhere. Or... was he just making fun of him again? It was hard to tell because while it really did seem more like the crazy old fuck was hitting on him, it didn't make much sense. And after all, Mr. White never passed on a chance to make fun of him, so Jesse rationalized that he probably was just overreacting. The old guy was kinda awkward natured, he probably didn't even realize how weird that had sounded. It was best to ignore the whole thing.

“Yeah, okay. If it bothers you so much, let me borrow one of yours or something. If not, well **whatever**.” Jesse said casually, trying to make light of the situation by being slightly confrontational. It was how things typically went between them anyway, and it somehow managed to break the tension more often than not.

Walter leaned across the table, causing Jesse to suck in his breath sharply through his teeth. He stared back at Mr. White, looking rather like a deer in headlights. Before he had a chance to react, Walt had already grabbed the new pack of Wilmingtons from the table and snatched Jesse's lighter out of his hand. He opened the pack as Jesse stared at him incredulously, distracted.

“Whoa, you smoking, Mr. White?!” He furrowed his brow as he watched Walter light up and take a puff.

“What exactly do I have to fear, cancer?” Walt retorted, glaring at Jesse like a vulture, again.

Jesse didn't speak. Damn, he could be full of surprises, sometimes. Even though Jesse thought he knew Mr. White pretty well, he sure was unpredictable.

“And as far as your question goes, I don't think so. I prefer you like that.” Walter grinned, continuing to smoke and drink like some sort of fiend.

_What. The. FUCK._

“Wait, wait. What? Now... come on Mr. White. What the hell does that mean?” Jesse asked weakly, mouth open.

“What do you think it means? I know you bombed chemistry but I'm reasonably certain you passed English...” He shot back quickly, voice low and rumbling. There was something sinister twinkling in Mr. White's eyes. Jesse didn't like it, at all.

He stared, incredulously for a moment, not really sure how he could possibly respond to that. Now it was absolutely certain, Jesse's instincts had been completely right. He'd not overreacted at all. Mr. White was coming on to him indeed, like some seedy creep in a cheap bar. Except, it wasn't a total stranger... It was Mr. White. His former chemistry teacher. His partner.

“Uh, yo. I'm not gay. You might be a fag but I'm not.” Jesse panted. Not the most graceful of statements and he hadn't intended to outright piss Mr. White off, but he was panicking. He wasn't exactly unaccustomed to being propositioned by men and women alike but this was completely different. This wasn't a one off meet with a stranger, a quick drug deal or innocent, meaningless flirting. This was someone he'd be stuck spending a great deal of time with regardless of how he handled the situation. It wouldn't have been a good idea to make things worse than they already were, and he knew it. “S-sorry.”

“I never said you were gay, Jesse.” Walt replied, scooting his chair closer to the younger man. “I'm well aware that you had a girlfriend back in high school. I know you have a girlfriend now. Also, as you well know, I'm married. But I don't see what any of those facts have to do with this.” Walter concluded, setting the drained bottle of beer on the table, his glare never leaving Jesse.

“Ahh, well. I uh...” Jesse stammered, staring into Walt's eyes. Goddamn, they were green. Like beyond reasonably so, and fucking intense. He shuddered, then shook his head, his anxiety spiraling out of control. Brow still tightly knitted, he inhaled sharply on his cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke directly in Mr. White's face, without even thinking about it.

_Oh fuck, oh god, oh Jesus Christ!_

Jesse shifted nervously. He didn't know if the old bastard knew what that signal meant on the street but he really fucking regretted it, regardless. Because he hadn't meant it, not at all. Right? He wasn't actually interested in **Mr. White**. Not like that.

Walter could tell that Jesse was spooked, really spooked. But to Jesse's utter humiliation he also knew indeed, what that age old sign meant. “Is that so, Pinkman?” He teased.

“No, no, Mr. White, wait.” Jesse struggled, putting his cigarette out hastily on one of the used plates with one hand while batting the smoke away with the other. His eyes were as big as saucers and he could damn near hear his blood pumping through his veins. How the fuck had all this even happened?

Walt sighed and shook his head slowly, then put out his own cigarette as well. His expression had changed, the harshness that was once there replaced by something softer, almost pitying, as if he'd just discovered a terrified puppy.

“Look, Jesse. I'm sorry. Its okay, really it is.” He cooed, trying to keep the boy from either having a heart attack or bolting out the door. “Maybe this is all a bit too much for you right now, so let's just drop it and spend some time together.” He continued.

_Time doing... what, exactly? Fuck, this is weird._

“Uh, yeah. Right. Okay, Mr. White, whatever you say, yo...” Jesse said meekly. He rested his arms in his lap. Then he squirmed and crossed his arms, fingers tightly gripping his biceps. He attempted to keep steady and appear composed. He knew his hands were shaking and he really didn't want Mr. White to notice how nervous he was. “Maybe I should just go back to my own room. Thanks, though. It was really nice of you and all.”

Walter shook his head. “No, you don't have to do that. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that was never my intention.” He explained. “I haven't been very nice to you today and for that I apologize. I was just, frustrated I guess but I shouldn't have taken it out on you.”

Jesse stared back at Mr. White, suddenly genuinely interested in what the older man had to say instead of only thinking of getting out of here as fast as fucking possible. A real apology? Really? Maybe he wasn't a selfish bastard a hundred percent of the time, after all.

He continued, hands suddenly clasped together as he watched the boy over the rim of his grandpa glasses. “I really should thank you. If it hadn't been for you and your determination out there, we would have died. You did well. Good job, Jesse.”

_...What?_

Jesse stared dumbly at Walter for a moment, as if he was giving the older man a chance to either take it all back, or to tack something mean on the end of that statement. Silence. Completely awkward silence.

“Uh, thanks I guess...” Jesse stammered, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He could feel his cheeks flushing. Damn, why couldn't he control himself, and his feelings, a little better? Why did he always have to be so damned obvious about everything? He lowered his head, hopefully before Mr. White had noticed that he was blushing. No such luck.

“That's a good boy, Jesse.” Walt said playfully, trailing the index finger of his right hand below Jesse's chin.

_**Ugh. Wh—at?** _

Jesse jerked his head up suddenly, gritting his teeth, staring angrily at the old man who was still sitting far too close to him. He shook his head, heart racing as he tried to keep a straight thought in his head. Oh, the irony in that. What the fuck was wrong with him? With Mr. White? What was going **on** , here?

“Come on Jesse. Don't be so damned serious. That's my job, remember?” Walter said smugly, one eyebrow raised. “We still have some time and I don't think either of us are all that excited about the idea of heading back out into the desert. We can either spend it completely alone and bored to death in this cheap motel or actually enjoy each others company. Once again I apologize if I upset you but I did try to make this evening somewhat pleasant, for both of us. We had a miserable enough time out there, don't you think?”

Jesse saw the logic in all of that. He glanced around the table. Mr. White had actually been thoughtful, outright nice, in planning all this. Had he not made the effort, Jesse would have spent tonight gorging on junk food and wallowing in self pity. That was still the same alternative that waited for him if he left, now. He didn't exactly enjoy being alone with his own thoughts, like, ever.

“Yeah... I guess, I guess you're right, Mr. White.” Jesse sighed. “I'm sorry I freaked on you.” He said, genuinely apologetic even though he really hadn't done anything all that wrong. He felt incredibly guilty for some reason.

“Its fine.” Walter said soothingly, his voice low and calm. “But you didn't actually come right out and say whether you liked it or not. Its okay either way.” He continued, placing his right hand on Jesse's left knee. “You still did a really good thing out there and you should know that.”

Jesse attempted to swallow the lump forming in the back of his throat, head spinning as he looked down suspiciously at Mr. White's hand. This really was happening. He looked up at his partner, fully intending to make himself clear and tell Mr. White off once and for all, so they could just... **try** to get back to things not being completely ridiculous. If that was even possible. He stared into Mr. White's eyes, thinking of the best way to let him down gently, so he didn't ruin their friendship in the process.

Walter squeezed Jesse's knee, waiting patiently.

“Look, man.” Jesse began, stopping short. Why was this so difficult? He sighed, leaning forward. “I just... this isn't. It's not a good idea, Mr. White. Like, at all.”

He didn't waste any time whatsoever. Judging Jesse's body language to be more accurate than his messily presented words, Walter took his chances. Leaning forward as well, he pressed his lips against Jesse's, kissing him softly.

That really strange feeling that had been lingering in the pit of Jesse's stomach all afternoon suddenly ignited and despite himself, he leaned into the kiss. Not thinking, not rationalizing, he simply felt. And damn, if it didn't feel nice.

Walter grunted, sliding his hand up Jesse's thigh, his other hand suddenly buried in the boy's unruly golden brown hair. He scooted closer still, his chair scraping against the cheap carpet rather loudly. Walt tugged Jesse closer as well, until the gap between them had been bridged, the bottom of their chairs touching. He held Jesse firmly in his grasp, the hand that was once on Jesse's thigh now wrapped around him, the other hand now pulling a handful of blond hair.

Jesse wasn't sure he could have escaped even if he'd tried, at this point. And that should have been the biggest sign of all that he needed to get the fuck out, and now. But for some reason, that was fucking hot. He didn't give a shit anymore. What was the point in resisting?

“Ohmigod-Mr.-White...” Jesse moaned weakly, shivering as he stared into Walter's eyes. His chest ached terribly, like he'd been kicked repeatedly and it was hard to breathe. How long had he felt like this, and an even better question, how had he not realized it? How did Mr. White fucking know if he didn't? God, the old guy was annoying, always second guessing him and always right about everything.

Jesse's train of thought was wrecked again as he felt Mr. White slide his tongue into his mouth. Jesse groaned loudly, eyelids fluttering shut as he gave in to the older man's advances. He was so dizzy, it was damned near like being high. He clawed gently at Walter's shoulders with both hands. Even though he was completely supported he felt like he was only seconds away from toppling over.

Before he could gather himself or his runaway thoughts, there were Walt's hands, exploring and touching his exposed chest with great care. His flesh was hot, hands soft and without callouses, they were the hands of a scientist. The hands of a chemistry teacher, of a man who hadn't made his living through manual labor. It made sense but somehow it surprised Jesse, that Mr. White's hands were so soft. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, not really wanting to, but it was okay. He understood now that he wasn't truly getting away unless Mr. White wanted him to. Fluttering his lids open, he stared at Walter.

Walt was staring at him like a hungry wolf, which was irritating but not a fucking shock. Jesse sighed, taking in his partner's expression. It wasn't hard to figure **him** out for once. Fuck, it was like once Mr. White got so much as a drop of alcohol in him, he completely changed. There was something perverse and threatening in that expression and despite all efforts to resist it, Jesse found it absolutely thrilling.

_Or maybe he's not drunk at all and its just a prop. A convenient excuse to drop later...to cover everything up if things get too weird._

Jesse suddenly grinned at the thought. Mr. White wasn't the only one who knew how to read between the lines and even though the asshole had downed three beers in record time, he doubted it was enough to cause all this. Maybe it took the edge off, just maybe. But that was it.

“I know what you're thinking, Mr. White...” Jesse teased, a boyish grin stupidly plastered all over his face.

Walt sat back in his chair for a moment, watching Jesse like a man admiring a new trophy. “I rather doubt that, Jesse. I **really** do.” He threatened coldly. “But maybe you'll learn before the night's over...” Now he was damned near purring at Jesse. There was so much suggested in that statement, it was insane. Sickeningly so.

Jesse shuddered, then turned away, suddenly not able to look at his partner. He was quickly learning he didn’t have the nerve to challenge Mr. White in this sort of situation. His face felt like it was on fire and he couldn't seem to steady his breath. And it was really embarrassing, because he knew that his every move was being studied with scientific precision. That Mr. White knew exactly what he was doing to Jesse, playing with him like he was some sort of lab experiment. And that also, was what Mr. White had been doing from the very moment he'd knocked on Jesse's door.

_Fucking **hell**. Have you always been this scary? _

Jesse stole a sideways glance at Mr. White, head still lowered bashfully.

Of course, those angry green eyes were still fixated on him. Jesse knew he was in trouble but it was too late to do anything about it. He was addicted to this feeling. Whatever the hell it was. Things hadn't gone very far, maybe with a little effort Jesse could still get to safety. Get out of this room, get out of here before it was too late.

Walt grinned devilishly at him. “You're not going anywhere. You're mine now. That's okay, you have been for quite some time.”

_Jesus Christ._

Red flags were everywhere. And there couldn't have been more sirens going off if they'd been suddenly relocated to a DEA raid. Yet, Jesse wasn't going anywhere. He could have, maybe. But he didn't want to.


End file.
